I AM POSTING some parts of my novel as I make my (hopefully, as alway) final edit. Changes I’ve made in the earlier chapters demands these changes and cuts. As I add new text, I will be deleting any previous text. Is it paranoia? Maybe.

This is a continuation of Chapter 19. Julie and Joey, despite some setbacks in their relationship, are awkwardly working together to find the reason behind Chulo’s death, and who is responsible.

Julia Cole, her bag over her shoulder, stopped a third of the way up the lower stairs. My board under my right arm, I skipped a step to join her. She skipped a step to not allow it. She stopped at the platform, waited until I joined her, and pointed to the words, “Old men stop here” carved into the water-side railing. 

“I’m fine, Miss Cole.” I took a deep breath and held it as I made the ninety-degree turn to the top set of stairs, switched my board to my left arm, skipped a step, and started up.

“Joey…” I stopped and looked back. “You can call me Julie. Please. Everyone else does. I don’t want anyone to think we…”

“’We’ again… Julie?”

“Yeah. That. And, Joey, since you’re ahead of me, is it all right if I check out your ass?” Julie set her bag down, started to reach inside, her eyes still on me. “Or not.”

Taking one step at a time, I exaggerated the side-to-side movement of my hips. Eight steps up, I could tell by the vibration in the wooden structure that Julie was running up the stairs behind me. We were even when she, then I, stopped, three steps from the top.

I let out a bigger-than-necessary breath and leaned over, tapping the nose of my board on the step she was standing on. I took another deep breath.

“Cigarette, Joey?”

“No, thank you, Julie.”

Julie’s breaths were quick and shallow. Her smile was tentative. “I called you Joey way before you got up the nerve to call me Julie.”

 “You win… then.” I was trying not to break into an uncontrolled giggling grin. “Julie?

“Yes.”

 “Julie. I will… I would like to… take my… keys and my… wallet… back. Please.”

Julie hit the pocket of her windbreaker and shook her head. She took two stair treads up, stopped, set her bag down, and turned around. “La Jolla. There’s Windansea and… there’s Blacks Beach. And UCSD. We could…”

I took the two stair steps between us in one. “We could, Julie, but…” I looked down at the bag, back at her face. We both seemed to notice how close we were. “Julie… People. What would people think?”

“Joey. Joey, if you… want, you can call me Julia.”

“Julia? Julia… you’re smiling.”

“Yeah? Well, you started it.”